


Fake Virtuoso's Soliloquy

by fructoseintolerant



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Huang Ren Jun & Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Past Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Huang Ren Jun, Reference to Eating Disorder, References to Depression, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructoseintolerant/pseuds/fructoseintolerant
Summary: Renjun is a mediocre painter who stopped painting after his muse had died.Donghyuck is an accountant who craves normalcy above all.They shared a flat, but not their feelings.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 73
Collections: Love Dream 2020





	Fake Virtuoso's Soliloquy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [metronomin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metronomin/gifts).



> I saw the second prompt and thought : 'Donghyuck would totally say this to Renjun' and that simple thought had birthed this work of fiction. I'm sorry if it's too heavy to your liking, but I do hope you enjoy it. Thank you.
> 
> For readers in general :
> 
> This work of fiction revolves around heavy topic and lots of bad decision Renjun takes to cope with his own feelings, hence, rated mature. Please heed the tags before you proceed further. Thank you and have fun reading!
> 
> PS: Special thanks to @tinierjun and @inj4nie who have helped me to improve this story. Thank you for being the best beta ever!

Sicheng's funeral was anything but gloomy.

Renjun remembered how he had intentionally arrived late just to avoid interacting with the other. But the funeral hadn't ended after hours. Renjun had to face them in the end. The judging faces. With flowers and drinks in their hands. If their hands hadn't been occupied, someone must've slapped him minutes ago.

But now that no one hadn't, Renjun felt like the one who should be doing it instead.

Renjun grasped his coat and watched as the fabric scrunched ugly like those crying faces he saw in the hallway. The hall had been cheerful, a clatter here and there. But in the hallway, some felt the need to cry in a not so crowded place. The ones who shamelessly wailed in front of everyone were the hypocrites. They clutched their dirty hands onto Sicheng's white casket.

If his chest hadn't been still the whole time, Renjun would've thought that Sicheng was just sleeping peacefully—unaware of the looking eyes. His beauty had enamored everyone including Renjun after all.

Renjun felt sick. His face went pale, ridiculed by the whole thing.

Renjun knew Donghyuck had taken notice of him. Foul mouth still babbling nonsense of condolences to everyone in Renjun's stead while his hand took one of Renjun's into his lap, silently grazing his knuckle to calm him. But it did nothing. If they were alone, Donghyuck surely would've hugged him. But the eyes were watching. And their mouths were itching to throw words of profanity to Renjun.

 _Whore_.

Renjun wouldn't miss the way they glanced down at their connected hands. But Donghyuck was quick to divert the spotlight. Today Sicheng deserved all the spotlight possible. For the very least.

"Sicheng was such a good friend to me and Renjun. A brother for some of us. It was grieving to see that God had taken a liking to him too much to take him this early," Donghyuck had said. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes as he sighed. Eyes set down cast. "Who would've thought?"

Renjun felt a pressure on his palm.

"Who would've thought!" the maiden in a black backless dress echoed, clicking her tongue in pity. Rather than sadness, disappointment was more visible on her beautiful face. Renjun watched as the woman downed her champagne, expensive taste.

Matching the theme for today's funeral. Renjun felt like an outcast here.

"It was a pity," another person had murmured. Mumbling against his glass, swirling the content around, "to think that Sicheng died without achieving his dream first."

"And what if he did achieve his dream?" Renjun asked, not because of sheer courage, but because of the sickness in his core. Later on, Renjun would realize that it was anger. 

Renjun licked his chapped lips, eyes now glaring at the person. He dared them once again, "What do you know about him?"

"He was supposed to inherit his late father's paper factory," the man told him with a frown, like Renjun was supposed to know this already. Like it was already an open secret that Sicheng gave up on all of that money just to pursue his dream to be a model. Of which he failed to do so.

"But he chose to fool around," they continued. Renjun felt the pressure he put on his balled fist decrease. The sharp nail no longer dug into his palm. But still, the crescents were visible. He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily.

"It was his dream. Doing what he wanted has always been his dream," Renjun rambled, feeling Donghyuck try to restrain him but he shook him off. "You don't know anything—"

"What had he achieved in his life?" The man sipped on his champagne. 

"I don't think it's polite to talk about Sicheng like that, Sir," Donghyuck stepped in, forcing Renjun who was close to breaking down behind him. Donghyuck finally stood up. "We are all grieving here. Sicheng deserves good words only. And not just today, but today especially."

The man shrugged. Didn't feel the need to add another comment. He had done enough—damage. But still, as he walked away, he muttered, "Mediocre model, just another whore."

Following the man's departure, Renjun rose up from his seat rather hastily, almost tripping on his own shoelaces. Donghyuck had tried to grab his hand but Renjun only dug his fingernail into the soft skin of Donghyuck's palm. Donghyuck had no choice but to let go. 

Renjun pushed past the people in the regal hall—courtesy of Sicheng's wealthy background. He secretly hoped Donghyuck would at least run after him. But there were no erratic steps behind him. Renjun was unwanted.

The realization dawned in a secluded cubicle of a public bathroom down the hallway. Where Renjun spent minutes trying to let out the nausea he felt almost the entire time he had been there. But it was futile. Nothing came out, even after he pushed the second finger in.

In the end, he kneeled exhaustively against the dirty toilet. Feeling empty. He didn't even lift his head when he heard a knock.

"Renjun? Are you in there?"

Renjun swallowed and closed his eyes. Facing the ceiling, seeing the red under his closed eyelids. "In a minute." Renjun in fact came out after two. But Donghyuck made no comment about it. Only stepping aside as Renjun walked away to the faucet.

"Did you puke?"

Renjun couldn't bear to lift his eyes to the mirror, choosing to stay down. He opened the faucet, cold water flowing steady into his dirty hand. Literally and metaphorically. "I couldn't."

"You couldn't," Donghyuck repeated. His gaze fixed on Renjun's reflection in the mirror. “What would come out if you don’t eat, yeah?”

“Stop it,” Renjun pleaded, hanging his head low between his hunched up shoulder. His wet hands perched on the edge of the counter. The water that was dripping from his nail was pink, tainted by the blood from his chapped skin he picked with his nail too often to be considered healthy.

He sighed. “Stop it,” he said again, “please.” Desperate.

Donghyuck obeyed. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He tamped the packet and picked one with his teeth. The lighter on his pocket was still warm when he pulled it out again.

It made a clicking sound and Renjun looked up from the blood drained on the faucet. He stared at Donghyuck in the mirror. “You smoke?” he asked the obvious.

Donghyuck tilted his head up after puffing. He dared Renjun to say anything again before he blew out the smoke. And he repeated the process. “What about it?”

Renjun turned to him, hands still resting behind him on the counter. His upper buttons were undone, revealing his clavicles as he leaned backward. He rested his head on the mirror. The smoke he inhaled was high and danced inside his lungs.

“You’re so fake.” 

Donghyuck tapped the ashes into the clean floor of the bathroom. The ivory tiles now shared the same sentiment as Renjun. “I never faked anything.”

“Acting all nice out there,” Renjun said, striding towards Donghyuck and snatching the cigarette from his mouth. He put it between his lips, mumbling against the rolled paper, “You’re as wretched as I am.”

His fingers bent gracefully on the tip. Elegant as always. Donghyuck had admired him for some time now.

Renjun puffed once and left the cigarette between his lips. He kept staring at Donghyuck. And when he blew, the cigarette fell, crushed by his heel. Intentional.

“I’m sick of you.”

“You don’t mean it,” Donghyuck told himself out loud. He watched as Renjun fixed his tie again. "Why aren't you crying?"

Renjun halted his movement, body tensed in a stance. Flight or fight. Donghyuck knew him too well already. "Aren't you supposed to cry?" Donghyuck had asked him again. 

Renjun turned to him. Without much premonition, Renjun threw a punch on Donghyuck's face. His small fist was sharp, boney. Even with the slightest effort it still hurt. But he didn’t confess about it. Donghyuck stumbled backward against the wall and put a hand on his face. 

"Fucker," Renjun hissed.

"What do you get from trying to look fine?"

Nothing. Absolute nothing.

Renjun had found himself standing on the very cursed existence of his studio now. Staring at the unfinished painting on the easel. The room was dark. Had been for a few days now. The light from outside was divided by the half-closed blind on the window, creating illusions of bars. Prisoning him. The shackle around his feet tightened every time he tried to look away from the canvas.

The twelve times eight squared inches fabric painted with oil was once his world. The world he had built and looked up to.

His dainty finger traced the surface. Breathing out heavily as he closed his eyes and reminisced about the brush strokes. Renjun dragged his finger across the canvas, painting over it with nothing more than his finger. From one edge to another. Eventually, Renjun felt that his finger wasn’t enough to paint. So he dragged his palm too, feeling the roughness his finger failed to feel, brusquely. 

Anyone could see Renjun had never meant to imagine the paint all over his palm. He had imagined that his palm was an eraser. He painted like he wanted to erase it.

When his palm stopped in the middle of the canvas, he dug his nail into the artificial fabric and tilted his head to the side. 

Since when did half of Sicheng’s face on the canvas become his world? Since when did Renjun devote himself to painting it? He spent time staring at Sicheng’s naked body. Painting the curves and planes of it. Flustered face occasionally peeking from behind the canvas to get a better look. Sicheng would smile at him, back then. But it was a fleeting moment Renjun always craved before it died down. Serious. Always so serious. But how about now?

Sicheng was as alive as this painting could be. Dead. Unfinished. Forever unfinished since Sicheng had died. Too hasty by far!

Renjun teared his gaze away from the unfinished painting and turned to his desk. There were scattered papers across his desk. Each was a sketch of the same face he saw in the casket today. It haunted him. His studies were filled with Sicheng’s face. Side profile, front, eyes, lips, ears, bodies—this studio a graveyard itself, dedicated to Sicheng foremost. The next would be Renjun’s.

Renjun cried and flipped off the sketches, not wanting to face the evidence of his crime. But it wasn’t enough yet, the phrase desperately echoed inside his head. It wasn’t enough for them to be facing the cold tiles of the floor. So he ripped them. One by one. Piece into piece.

In the dark studio of his, Renjun was a mere puppet possessed by the ghost in the corner. Aggressively ripping his own works and trashing them. Filling up the rather empty floor. Alas, only one left. The cursed canvas itself.

Renjun grabbed the knife from his desk. Ready to kill Sicheng once again, he lifted the knife. His face was scrunched and his hair was messy, some part was thinning, showing his unhealthy behaviour for the past years. His will had been strong and yet, he wavered at the sight of those eyes. His thin wrist shook terribly before he dropped the knife with a clank. The marble floor below now scarred for life.

Without the knife, Renjun felt empty, his hand felt empty. He grasped and ungrasped the air. In the end, he wrapped those loose arms around himself. Feeling nothing like Sicheng's embrace. He cried in front of the painting as if it was a picture of the Messiah and he was trying to atone his sin.

Kneeling and crying in front of the unfinished painting. That was how Donghyuck found him after he came back to their shared flat.

Donghyuck had found the door to Renjun's studio slightly open. A strange occurrence considering how secretive Renjun was about his life. But Donghyuck knew. He knew too well what happened behind that closed door. Behind the excuses of painting his so-called muse. Renjun and Sicheng were fucking behind those false formality.

Still, tonight Donghyuck respected Renjun's privacy. He knocked on the slightly agape door. "Renjun?"

When Donghyuck heard no answer, he pushed open the door wide enough for him to get in and carefully closed it without much sound. The room was dark and from that alone, he knew Renjun wasn't painting at the moment. At least he wouldn't disturb something so sacred to Renjun.

Truthfully, Donghyuck already knew that Renjun couldn't possibly paint something right now. He knew it was impossible.

When he found Renjun kneeling beside his easel in the corner of the room, facing the moonless night outside, he sighed. It was silly that he was relieved by the sight. At the very least.

"What are you doing here?"

Renjun stretched his toes. "Nothing."

Donghyuck shifted his weight from one foot to another. Not quite helping his bad posture. "Do you want me to turn on the lights?"

"Don't," Renjun forbade him. Stern.

"You're afraid of the dark."

"No. I'm afraid you'll see me like this," Renjun retorted. He sighed, standing up and putting a dark red cloth over Sicheng's painting. He knew this wouldn't stop him from dreaming about this cursed painting. But still, he put another cloth above it.

He didn't know why he felt like this. He didn't know why he was sad. Sicheng was nothing more than a nude model he worked with. Sicheng was nothing more than a person he fooled around with.

Sicheng was nothing more than a love he craved each time he felt lonely.

"I don't know what to do now, Donghyuck," Renjun confessed, smiling like a maniac. Donghyuck should be afraid. Even more with the knife he had in his hand, glinting when the light from the half-closed blind shone through.

"I lost it. I lost my muse, my inspiration," he whispered.

But Donghyuck only kneeled near Renjun, wrapping his arms around Renjun's trembling body. If anyone asked why, he would say: 'but he was crying'.

"It's alright to not know what to do, Renjun. It's alright," Donghyuck assured him. He clutched Renjun like there was no tomorrow, even when he knew Renjun wouldn't return it, staying still as he cried against Donghyuck's shoulder. "We'll figure this out together," Donghyuck said, pushing the easel away in favor of being closer to Renjun.

Renjun never made it past the fourth stage.

He stayed in his studio for hours. When Donghyuck peeked inside, he was doing nothing. Only sitting still. He always stayed past midnight, even after Donghyuck was on his second cup of coffee for the night. Later on, Donghyuck learnt that Renjun never left the studio at all.

Donghyuck didn't comment. They had passed the stage of meddling with each other's business. But of course, there were times when they were always at each other's throat, yet accustomed to each other's lifestyle in their college days.

Renjun was an art major. Got into their university solely on a scholarship. He came from a middle class family—just like Donghyuck—but from China.

He was an alien. Trying to fit in with the way things were in there.

Renjun was an aspiring artist ever since he was little. Always dreaming of creating something. Babbling something that went as follows: _the purest form of love is creation_. Similar to a child being born by their parents' love, a poem is born from the poet's love of words, and music from the musician's love of the melodies.

Renjun had always wanted to create something. Started painting at five and hasn't stopped since. It was a part of his life now, painting.

Whereas Donghyuck was an economy major. Having to choose the most normal job ever just to live the most normal life ever. It might sound boring. But sometimes, normalcy is what everyone needs when this strange world is lacking comfort.

Just like everyone else, Donghyuck loves normalcy.

They first met as eighteen years olds who were looking for a place to live. Renjun who was far from home bringing only little money with him, and Donghyuck who aspired to be an econom ever since he was little. They ended up sharing this flat. Has been for the past few years.

Everything had been great. Renjun graduated with a diploma and Donghyuck as a bachelor of economics. With their own degree, they got a suitable job. Renjun as a freelance artist and Donghyuck as an accountant on a small company near their flat.

It was enough for them.

But Renjun had been greedy. He decided to pursue another branch of things he hasn't tried before. And there, he met Sicheng, a nude model.

Sicheng, by all means, was attractive. Everything about him was. Enticing. Donghyuck understood why Renjun became so infatuated with the model. Another thing to add is that : Sicheng was also another alien as Renjun is.

It was easy for them to fall into their dialects and speak things Donghyuck didn't understand. It was easy for them to develop something more than just being colleagues. Friends with benefits, one would say.

But Donghyuck had seen too much to know that it wasn't. It started with a premonition that grew into a fact: Renjun loved Sicheng.

It was visible. And they were a more matching pairing, an artist and a model.

An artist and an accountant were too strange of a combination. Too different. But Donghyuck would never know. They were never a thing Donghyuck had always hoped.

Ever since the funeral, Renjun hadn't cried again. But instead he looked hollow. He looked thinner, and his eyes never glowed the way they did before. Donghyuck found his hair everywhere on the floor. Renjun had shrugged it off when Donghyuck told him about it.

"I wasn't feeling well," he reasoned.

But the night Donghyuck had had enough, he stormed into the studio, not caring whether Renjun would be mad at him or not. To hell with that. Renjun was killing himself. But not wanting to actually sin again, he let himself deteriorate little by little.

Donghyuck pushed open the door to the studio. It was dark. Matching with the dark sky above. It has been cloudy lately. The stars were nowhere to be seen. It was a pity. Renjun's life was a pity.

But Donghyuck disregarded the thought as he took a good look at his studio. Donghyuck had always known that Renjun was always messy.

Sketching everywhere and leaving the sketches everywhere. So when Donghyuck found none of those usual sketches, he knew Renjun lied. Tonight, Renjun had become the very ghost he feared. Sitting still in the corner, facing the painting on the easel. Sicheng. It had been two weeks, Sicheng.

"Renjun? Are you okay?"

"I've tried, Donghyuck," Renjun whispered. Voice as hollow as his eyes. He was staring blank at the white part of the canvas. Staring at the dried oil paint was scary, Sicheng was scary. "I really tried. I'm sorry."

Donghyuck blinked a few times. He sniffed and walked towards him. He cried when he saw his best friend. The grief had taken a toll on his health. Renjun looked the worst he had been, hollow eyes framed with dark circles, staring emptily at Sicheng. 

"It's alright—"

"Please," Renjun whispered, looking up from where he was staring at the floor. He clutched the arm Donghyuck put around his shoulder. "Please don't tell me it's alright. It is not."

"I can't paint anymore, Donghyuck. I can't bring myself to finish this painting."

"Then don't. Do other things!" Donghyuck said, forcing Renjun to face him instead of the canvas. But Renjun shook him off. Donghyuck couldn't conceal his disappointment anymore.

"You've done this a million times. You paint and sketch everyday, what makes it different now?" Donghyuck ran a hand through his hair. The coffee from before had made his heart beat faster at 11 pm and now it brought useless adrenaline into his veins. He hissed. "Dong Sicheng? Is that why?"

The name brought some sense to Renjun, glaring at Donghyuck. "You don't know how it feels."

"I don't. But you know your feelings. You know how to fix this shit and fucking _move on_. You know how to paint and live, Renjun," Donghyuck breathed out. He glanced at the brush in Renjun's hand, the paint threatening to dry at any given moment.

He guided Renjun's thin wrist to the canvas. In the middle of the dark, Donghyuck tried to find the same colour the brush held.

But it was useless. Renjun kicked him in the stomach, shoving him backward.

"What are you _doing_?" Renjun exclaimed, furious. His ragged breath replacing the crack in his voice.

Donghyuck glanced aside. Guilty.

Renjun put a hand on the canvas. He rested his head on his hand. "You're going to ruin my painting. The very painting I devoted my soul to!"

Donghyuck scoffed. "Are you done, _Basil Hallward_?"

Renjun's pained expression hurt Donghyuck more than he thought. But the regrets were unnecessary.

“We both know that you were trying to rip that painting with the knife before.”

"Basil…?" Renjun asked in disbelief. "Donghyuck you know nothing about all of this. You're always stuck in that black and white world of yours. Too secluded in your shallow mind that you could only think of making money—working and kissing someone's ass until you die.”

"You don't know what devotion feels like," Renjun whispered.

The yelling had reaped the energy he had for the night. Renjun slumped on his seat. Face to face with his love. "I don't want to move on. I don't want to forget Sicheng," Renjun said, shaking his head, "or whatever we had in the past."

"Do you feel guilty about it? To live while Sicheng stays six feet under?"

"I never feel guilty about anything," Renjun lied.

"Or do you just want to feed on your suicidal thoughts?"

A single tear fell down his face. Dramatically. Just like everything Renjun had done. In the end, Renjun gave up. He sighed and wiped his tears, fixing a cloth over the painting. "What do you want me to do, Donghyuck? What should I do for you? What do you need from me?"

Donghyuck stared at nothing on the side, avoiding Renjun's pitiful face until it was no longer possible. Renjun was his own karma, after all. "Please don't give up on your dream. Don't let this loss be your own end."

Renjun chuckled. Full of irony as he clawed on his clothed chest. "I can't. I've lost my muse and soul, Donghyuck. I have no inspiration. Sicheng died—before I could finish this portrait of him." 

Renjun buried his head in his hands, sobbing.

Donghyuck bit his lip. "So what do you want to do now?"

"I want to take a break from painting," Renjun said, almost as if he had been thinking about this answer thoroughly. Rehearsed, though a bit unsure. Donghyuck knew how hard it was to stop doing something that had become a big part of your life.

(But still, he loved Renjun.)

Renjun had stopped painting since then.

He started going out more often. Dressing pretty, a pack of cigarettes in his hand as he went out the door. Late at night he would come home stumbling drunk. But more often he came home the next morning, smelling of alcohol and sex. Donghyuck was never brave enough to ask who. He knew it was different every time. More often Donghyuck found himself eating dinner alone.

It was Renjun's coping mechanism. And sometimes it led into something more self-destructive. Renjun knew what he was doing, yet he didn't stop. Like everything he did in his life, this, too, was purposeful.

Donghyuck took pity on him.

The night he found Renjun as he was about to leave again, Donghyuck stopped him, reaching for his arm before he could open the front door. "Where are you going?"

"You don't need to know, Donghyuck," Renjun said. No anger. His voice was filled entirely with tiredness—as if he had been down this path with Donghyuck before. Renjun removed Donghyuck's hand and went on his way.

But he turned around, a hurt expression on his beautiful face. "Are you going to call me a whore too?" The white on his breath was similar to one a cigar would produce. Somehow smoke would be more natural than his own breath.

"No."

Renjun swallowed and nodded. "Good. I'll punch you if you do." He fixed his sling bag's strap and tightened his coat. The night was chilly. Their walls were thin. And the cold seeped through easily that way. The doorway felt cold. Donghyuck had wanted to put a warm hand over Renjun's shaking hands. But he didn't.

"Is the place you head better than the amusement park?" Donghyuck asked, nervous. 

In a better situation, Donghyuck would ask this question in broad daylight. When Renjun was about to head to the park where he would paint while he himself was busy tying his tie. Renjun would stop whatever he was doing and turn to face him. Laughing as he fixed Donghyuck's tie.

If Donghyuck was lucky, Renjun would answer: _‘No, I’m bored of those places’_ , and they would head to the amusement park—ditching their work. Running playfully to Renjun's car with their unmatched clothes and driving past the speed limit with some bubblegum pop playing in the background.

But Sicheng came and died just like that. Donghyuck had carried no hope since then.

Renjun turned to him. The dim light of the doorway casted a shadow over the contours of his face, hiding his eyes. But Donghyuck could see the time Renjun completely surrender. 

Renjun sighed. "No."

There were no pop songs playing in the background. There were no open windows and yelling to the night sky about how shitty life is. Only silence. And the occasional rumble from the old machine of Renjun's 2003 Volvo.

When they did arrive, Renjun left the car immediately, eager to keep this as brief as possible and go back to sleep, or back to where he planned to go in the first place.

"Wait!" Donghyuck called out to him, hand hastily closing the door. The dark parking lot around them felt more menacing that night.

In front of him, Renjun locked the car with the car key. The lights from the amusement park turned Renjun into a silhouette. With a clear contour of his face. Even to the annoyed expression. "What?"

"Wait for me," Donghyuck said, embarrassed.

The black shadow stayed still for a moment. Only then Donghyuck realized Renjun was waiting for Donghyuck to catch up. He laughed. The music ringing from the amusement park overpowered. 

Passing through the almost empty set of rides was calming. The lights were still on, but the visitors went home early. Children need to sleep, after all. 

The ferris wheel stood out the most. Donghyuck knew Renjun held no grudge towards the ride. No thrill, no scream, only a night view up above. He knew Renjun would like the ferris wheel.

Dragging Renjun there, he spoke softly, "Let's ride the ferris wheel."

Renjun nodded, still silent. He waited on the side, eating sweets Donghyuck had bought before while Donghyuck talked with the staff. Renjun bit his candy and glanced to the side, seeing Donghyuck slipping folded money to the staff's pocket from his periphery.

After that: "Let's go, Renjun."

The music was on again. The wheel turned again. They were children again.

Donghyuck held on tight to Renjun's hand when the wheel started to go up. Old metal creaked a little, could still be heard even when the cheerful song played out loud. Renjun could only close his eyes and hoped it over soon.

Maybe he was nervous. Or maybe he didn't want Donghyuck to see him like this. He didn't know anymore. He had lost direction these days. That too, he admitted.

Renjun furrowed his brows and exhaled heavily through his mouth. He felt a tap on his knuckle.

"Renjun," the voice said, too gentle to be his best friend. "Renjun, open your eyes."

Renjun had always been the skeptical one. Not quite believing everything and everyone. But just for tonight, he wanted to trust Donghyuck. He wanted to trust himself. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open.

The city lights below were blurred—dots of light became similar to stars—but he blinked once. And they became clear. 

"It's beautiful, right?" Donghyuck asked him.

Renjun leaned to get a better look and Donghyuck knew his answer already. "I know you like the stars—you never forget to put them in your drawings—but I know the sky here isn't that pretty. But I think some lights will do, right?"

Renjun stared at the ground below. Some lights blinked a few times. The warm street lights flickered a bit. The window on the apartment near the amusement park went dark. It was already late. He turned to Donghyuck. Staring, and so did Donghyuck. Staring as if Renjun could understand what he wanted to say.

But the lights were fake. Artificial. They could never be the same as the stars. Donghyuck secretly knew. Something could never replace another. Something couldn't be described with something else. Not everything felt like something else.

And in this case, Donghyuck could never replace Sicheng.

But still: "I love you."

Renjun abandoned his studio, not even sparing a glance towards the white closed door. But when the alcohol was high in his blood, he would knock on the door, asking for permission to come in. And each time, he left crying because he wasn't worthy enough. 

But anomaly had always been a constant presence throughout Donghyuck's life. Not so different from the night he found Renjun sleeping on the cold floor of his studio. He was clean that night. Sober.

Donghyuck retrieved Renjun's blanket and covered the curled body.

Renjun hummed awake. "Donghyuck?"

Donghyuck smiled gently, stroking Renjun's slightly concave cheek. It felt cold on his knuckle.

"Your hand is warm," Renjun commented, voice groggy from the sleep.

Donghyuck chuckled. "I know." He stared at Renjun's half-lidded eyes. Sleepy. The moonlight shone through the open window. Fresh air flowing through. Telling stories Donghyuck found amusing. He could only wish for Renjun to do the same.

Donghyuck sighed and urged him to get up again. Renjun would wake up sore if he let him sleep on the floor. To which he received a pull on his wrist.

"Stay here for a while," Renjun said, rolling to his back and putting an arm under his head. "Please stay here with me for a while."

Donghyuck stilled for a while, lost in those glassy eyes. He swallowed hard, heartbeat thrumming on his chest. "Okay."

Donghyuck lowered his body to the floor. The plastic imitating wooden pieces felt cold even over layers of clothes he wore. His round head felt immense pain from laying on the hard surface. But he didn't complain. Simply basking in the silence Renjun had offered.

But it was Renjun who broke the silence after a few minutes.

"I had a dream earlier," he started. Staring at the ceiling. Donghyuck turned to Renjun and the dried tear stain on his temple.

"About what?"

"Sicheng," Renjun said, brushing off the sudden heavy atmosphere with a chuckle. "And the world."

"Was it a bad dream?" Donghyuck had asked, cautious. He knew what association Renjun could bring regarding Sicheng and the world. It wasn't always a pretty word.

"I don't know. I dreamt of pretty places and a pretty person. It should be a good dream," Renjun answered. He lifted a hand to the air. Staring at the birthmark on the back of his hand. Sicheng had kissed him there before, telling him how talented and beautiful his hands were.

Renjun sighed and grasped the fleeting memories. "I wish to paint again."

Donghyuck whipped his head to him. Feeling genuine happiness for his best friend. Taking a break from painting had done worse to Renjun. Donghyuck was glad Renjun had found his will to paint again. It meant Renjun was alive again.

But still, the hesitation bled into reality. "Are you sure?"

"No."

"Oh," Donghyuck simply said. 

"But I want to find it again. Inspiration, or motivation. Whatever."

"That's great."

"I felt nothing for the past few days; empty," Renjun confessed, recalling the days he spent staring longingly at the closed door of this studio. Just like what Donghyuck had said—when he stopped using drugs—it was hard to let go of things you were addicted to. He glanced at the dark red cloth over the painting in the corner. "The internet told me I have depression."

Donghyuck's breath hitched. "It's normal for someone who is grieving—"

"I know," Renjun cut him off. He sighed and removed the blanket. "I'm not asking for attention if that's what you head for."

Donghyuck frowned. "I never thought of you like that."

Renjun was silent for a moment.

Then the sound of his lips parting was too loud. "I'm leaving."

"Where to?"

"Somewhere else. I want to travel the world. Breathing new air. Looking for things to be painted," Renjun said, eyes gleaming with wonder. Donghyuck couldn't quite do the same even though they were staring at the same dark ceiling.

"That's… great," he said for the second time that night. Though it lacked the usual certainty.

Renjun left three days later. No planning in advance. His luggage only consisted of two suitcases. One for his clothes and the other for the cursed painting. 

That was why Donghyuck couldn't find something he could do for Renjun. Not even helping him with the luggage to the airport that day. Renjun knew about this. He stopped Donghyuck from going further than the doorway.

"You have work," Renjun reminded Donghyuck—who was clad in his work suit. He fixed Donghyuck's slightly crooked tie for him.

"But you're leaving," Donghyuck said, stopping Renjun's hand. The tie was already perfect from the very start. 

To that statement, Renjun could only nod. He offered a timid smile, "Yes. I've some places I already have in mind: Rome, Vienna, Japan, Cambodia— _so many_. I won't stay long in each. I'll just be a fleeting visitor."

Like a fleeting daydream.

Donghyuck knew. He had seen those lists on Renjun's desk. He had been prepared. Or so he thought. He blinked the stray tears away and took a deep breath, smirking to conceal his downward lips.

But Renjun saw past him. He pulled Donghyuck into a hug.

Donghyuck had no choice but to bury his head in the crook of his neck, to the scarf he pulled from the dryer this morning. 

He didn't want to hold Renjun back. "You look happy."

Renjun tensed at the words.

"What's wrong?" Donghyuck whispered.

"What would Sicheng think if he was here now?" Renjun said. He clutched on Donghyuck's suit, ruining the smooth fabric. "Would he feel betrayed, that I have forgotten about him and searching for his... _substitute_?" Renjun asked, voicing his worry.

"Would he hate me for sure, now?"

" _No, he wouldn't,_ " Donghyuck said, tightening his hug on Renjun. "You're healing yourself. He would understand."

"How do you know?" Renjun asked, nails acted as claws digging deeper into Donghyuck's back. "You're not Sicheng."

"Sicheng loved you."

"No," Renjun said. He pulled away from the hug, leaving Donghyuck's arm hanging at the air. Donghyuck had no choice but to clasp his open palm and put down his arms. He hardened his jaw. 

Renjun faced the floor on the side. "I have to go."

Renjun took his suitcases away to the door and put on his shoes hastily. He was facing the door and yet Donghyuck could still see him crying.

"I know that you need to see the world," Donghyuck started. He stared as Renjun opened the front door with a creak. Separating the wooden piece from its mold. "But when you can… please come back."

Renjun stopped his step but not turned around.

"Never mind," Donghyuck dismissed his words. He rubbed his nape and looked down to his socks on the carpeted floor.

Renjun chuckled, breathy. "Yeah, never mind."

With that, Renjun was gone.

— Everyone could describe how funerals were.

None of them actually cried at the funeral. Not when they were busy handling the funeral itself, the event. The planning and the aftermath. The handshakes exchanged and the words of condolences. They still had to meet distant family and friends. Exchanging memories of the dead and bond over the deceased. A rotten way to make friends is to attend funerals.

Just like Donghyuck still lived like usual. Eat, sleep, work. Busy with someone else's money. Chatting with new friends and colleagues. Kissing random people in the club, never too personal. Stressing over his work again. Watching new series and overall, living in his dreamt normalcy.

— The cry came after hours, or maybe days after.

When the loneliness became real. Because no hallucination felt this real. No designer drugs stay inside your veins this long.

He realized once he saw how many groceries he had thrown out this week only. Wasted. Too much food for one person.

Donghyuck stared at the empty ends of the dining table across his seat. Renjun's. He stared at the calm water inside the transparent glass. A ripple surfaced when he tapped it. Clink, clank. When he looked up, the seat was still empty.

It felt real.

Renjun kept his plan. Moving from one town to another. One country to another. Always in motion. As if he was on the run.

He met amazing and pretty people in a span of a few months. The ones worth his time and energy. He knew he would never meet them again, one time only. So he immortalized these precious moments into a painting. Some weren't patient enough and they only got sketches.

Renjun had found how easy it was to fall back into his routine of being a painter. He painted the scenery at day and sketched not-so-random faces he once knew at night. Studying colour and shade, and all that it brought to him. He realized that the cramped studio was the cause of his artist block and here in the wild, his brain was no longer held captive by those four walls.

He painted and painted. Bought canvases only to leave them in strangers' houses as a parting gift. 

But an exception was made when he met Lucas. 

Lucas was a backup dancer in a small theatre in Taiwan. And while the main actor and actress had thought Renjun was going for them, Renjun went straight to Lucas. Telling him how he wanted to paint him. For free. Lucas would get to keep the painting afterwards. It was worth it.

The main character is always worth it.

When he was young, he remembered about a movie he watched with his father. Footloose. The first time Renjun saw the movie, he was amazed by the messy and uncoordinated dancing. Free. Dancing only to the beat of the music and not according to someone else. The second time he watched the movie, alone—where there was no father to tell him to close his eyes when the kissing scene came in—he realized how society pictured freedom as a criminal act. An abnormality.

Lucas was one of them; another abnormality. He came from a wealthy family and dancing was never meant to be a job for him. Simply another cheap interest. That’s why he never lost his passion for dancing. No burden came from dancing. No payment needed for the love he gave. Simply, dancing.

Renjun had found him enticing. Like Renjun, Lucas was always in motion. Dancing to his own heartbeat. Renjun wanted to immortalize that beautiful dancing, frame by frame. If only he could do that.

And so, Renjun stayed with Lucas, longer than those previous fleeting strangers.

Soon Renjun found himself falling into the same twirling waters of past mistakes. It all started with a premonition. It all started with a glimpse of Sicheng he saw when he was painting Lucas.

Then the haunting began again.

The bottle of oil shattered once it kissed the cold hard marble below.

Lucas sat up and turned to Renjun, the silk cloth covering his body slipped to the bed. The pose was broken. His brows furrowed in an unreadable expression. “What’s wrong?”

Renjun stared at the puddle of oil on the white marble, contrasting. His hand shook badly, the paint dripped from the brush he was holding. He put it back hastily, clutching his hand near his chest. Some of the paint was already tainting the floor, making a sea of red oil below. Blood. “I don’t know.”

Lucas stared at Renjun, a worried expression on his face, but profanity from his mouth when he accidentally stepped on the glass shards.

Renjun stopped him. “Leave them be. You’ll hurt yourself. I’ll clean it myself.”

“It’s okay, it’s alright, I can handle it,” Lucas said, picking up the glass shards with tissues and dumping them into the bin. The rest were swept away with a broom he brought. Carefully, he stepped on the floor and smiled sweetly. “There, now it’s safe for you.”

Lucas extended his hands for Renjun to take. Although hesitant, Renjun took those hands and let Lucas carry him to the bed. “Let’s take a break.”

—“I love you,” Donghyuck had said.

The wheel went up. The sky looked closer than ever.

“Do you want me to say it back?"

Donghyuck looked up to the sky. At least the sky wouldn't say anything about his glassy eyes. "No."

"Love is a big word, Donghyuck. I'm not ready for it."

Hopeful. "Will that time ever come?"

The truth. “I don’t know.”

Uncertain. “Do you want me to wait?”

The wheel went down. The ground looked more tempting than ever.

—

Renjun woke up to the soft beat of Lucas’ heart. Beating softly, making his palm move up and down. He traced the curves and the edges of Lucas’ chest. Absentmindedly.

It was foul. The way he dreamt of someone else while being in a bed with another man. He wondered if he actually said Donghyuck’s name out loud. Or if Lucas had noticed.

But Lucas had always been the one that paid too much attention.

"What are you thinking about?" Lucas said, voice groggy from the sleep. He turned to put his arms around Renjun.

Renjun cradled Lucas' face into his chest, softly mumbling, "You." He just hoped that his rapid heart beat was from Lucas and not because of the lie. "Only you."

They both knew it wasn't the truth. They knew Lucas was just a friend. A good friend that eased his loneliness. Every night they cradled each other until sleep came to them, but that was... that. There were no strings attached. Just the way Renjun liked it.

No strings attached. No responsibility. No pressure.

Growing up, Renjun learnt that everything had its own dynamics. Nothing was constant. The waves were always moving, up and down, hitting the shores or aimlessly swimming through the sea.The wind was always blowing, nevermind the direction. Heart, too, eventually would change. 

News flash: love wasn't exactly timeless. It had an expiration date.

He didn't like the way it sounded. So why didn't he not set it at all? So Renjun started giving excuses.

'Let's stay as friends.'

A few days later, Donghyuck called. 

It was strange how Renjun could almost know that it was him when he heard the ringtone. Or how he felt that way towards the previous calls from strangers. He wouldn't say that he was expecting it. The call was simple. Donghyuck had asked about him—if he was okay and happy—but not his whereabouts. They both knew it was never the deal.

Though planting these weird feelings inside Renjun's shallow brain wasn't exactly the deal too, Renjun couldn't get rid of Donghyuck for the next few days. 

Renjun downed it all in a several gulp. Each day without fail.

He distanced himself from Lucas. Knowing too well that he just… couldn’t. Even when all Lucas did was take care of him. 

“You should sleep, Renjun. You’re drunk,” Lucas had told him an hour ago.

Renjun said no an hour ago.

He shook his head, but still hung it low between his hunched shoulders, shielding the glass from Lucas. He knew Lucas wouldn’t like it. He didn’t turn to Lucas, still staring at the glass of alcohol. “I need it tonight.”

“Would you say the same for every other night?”

The liquid moved around the glass as he twirled it around. His nail had grown long and it made a beautiful sound every time he tapped against the glass. “Maybe.”

“You can always talk to me, you know,” Lucas said, albeit hesitant.

“Okay.”

“I’ll go to sleep then.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t sleep too late.”

Renjun played it off with a sip from his glass and sighed. Lucas went back to his room. Renjun went back to his mind. He barely turned his head around when he heard the door being closed. Just enough to stare at his momentary studio—a small room that was intended for storage.

He had to practice. He was a painter after all.

Renjun went to his studio and wondered what he should sketch this time. It was almost automatic. For his hand to reach for a pencil and trace it on the slightly rough surface of the paper. But still he let out a shaky breath. His chest felt stiff. As if his ribs would lift themselves to make room for his lungs to expand. He felt nervous for what?

It was just a hand at first. Drawing the flesh he recalled from memory. Remembering the soft feeling of being held by hand. The curve and the edge of it all. The long fingers and the shiny cuticles, although too short. It wasn’t his hand. Callous, veins, and all that made these hands more humane than the eyes he threw in the mirror.

Flexing. Grasping. Weird sign. He drew the variation.

Drawing bodies were nice. He had seen enough to be able to draw bodies from memory. The shape and the built. But for some reason, he couldn’t tonight. The reasons were never there in the first place. Just an excuse.

Eyes came next.

Everyone loves eyes. Sometimes eye, when they had a little white space on their notebook. The class had been boring, and suddenly you found yourself drawing an eye that wasn't yours. How you know how to draw it was unknown. Maybe it was your past lover’s eye. Engraved in memory. Or maybe you saw it once in your dream, now trying to make it into existence.

Renjun felt a wave of deja vu drowning him the same way the alcohol did. It became a riptide; and Renjun’s legs were never the strongest.

His drunken mind couldn’t think of anything else but to finish the face. Completing his human nature.

It was bizarre. Artists have no limit. Creating everything you want, anything, even the most impossible. And yet, Renjun had found himself drawing that familiar face. Donghyuck’s. Renjun stared at the paper on his hand. Donghyuck. Donghyuck facing other directions. Donghyuck smiling. His hands and his eyes.

Renjun had gone crazy.

Still staring at his drawings, Renjun fished out his phone from his pocket. He pressed the dial button, this time he didn’t hesitate. There was a moment where he spent listening to the ringtone, slightly tapping his nail against the wooden table.

_“Renjun?”_

Renjun let out a small laugh. Almost inaudible, but the silent night gave him the luxury. “Hi Donghyuck.”

_“What’s wrong?”_

“You still ask?”

Renjun was met with a pause before Donghyuck spoke again. _“You’re drunk.”_

“Got sobered up minutes ago.”

_“You know that’s not how alcohol works, Renjun.”_

Renjun laughed, brushing it off. He wasn’t in the mood for science related topics. He scribbled some weird lines on the space residue. Absentmindedly. “Can you guess what happened? The wrong that happened?”

_“I would jinx it if it’s a wrong guess.”_

Renjun laughed again. A little louder this time. Feeling brave with alcohol in his system. He didn’t want to name this ridiculous feeling inside his chest. He just wanted to talk with his best friend.

“What’s worse that could happen than to unconsciously draw your face?”

_“Huh?”_

“Wait a minute.”

Renjun took a photo of his drawing, but left out some parts and sent it to Donghyuck. No caption. He knew whatever he wrote, Donghyuck would end up making fun of it.

“You see it?” Renjun asked through the phone. Fingers quilling the edge of the paper, bristled now. 

_“Oh.”_

“Oh?”

_“You’re drawing me? Why?”_

Renjun considered for a moment. Truthfully? “I don’t know. I think I just wanted to get you out of my mind,” Renjun had confessed. He imagined what Donghyuck would say. Something about how shameless he was for suddenly calling. He didn’t expect the laugh.

_“Can’t I stay?”_

“It’s not up to you,” Renjun retorted. Dutifully ignoring the image of Donghyuck he had created inside his mind. Bland. Not like Donghyuck in reality. He despised it. “Or up to me,” he whispered.

It was a heavy conversation. And Renjun left an answer that maybe left Donghyuck puzzled. Maybe that could explain the silence after that. It was uncomfortable. Renjun wanted to say something else. But like in many other aspects, Donghyuck beat him to it.

_“I miss—”_

“I miss y—"

Renjun paused. There was a beat of silence before they erupted into laughter. He buried his smile in his palm, as if he was hiding it. He didn’t know why. Maybe he was just not entitled to it.

_“When are you coming home?”_

“I don’t know,” Renjun said, hesitant. The phrase has been familiar to his tongue for some time now. His go-to phrase every time he was asked for something he already knew the answer to but chose not to tell. Like this night too, there were too many questions, too little stories to share.

The word home made his heart ache with a longing feeling. Donghyuck had named that place home, and now Renjun had no choice but to long for the comfort of it.

_“Are you okay?”_

“I’ll try to be.”

_“It wasn’t your fault, Renjun.”_

It was both ridiculous and sad how Renjun immediately knew the context. The plague on his mind.

Donghyuck bid his farewell for the night. Asking Renjun to stay healthy, no excessive drinking, or sleeping late. Renjun answered yes to all the advice, crossing his fingers behind his back as he promised not to overthink things. 

After that, the room went dark again. The atmosphere became less light. And Renjun glanced at the cursed painting in the corner, the one he brought from his home.

He knew it was the time to break the curse.

Contrary to what people had said at his funeral, Sicheng was not a good man. 

He was a man full of flaws. He was dented at the heart where he was soft. But that was just another reason why Renjun had taken a liking to him. Renjun knew they shared the same sentiment towards the world. And it had been Sicheng and Renjun against the world since then. It was alright. Sicheng had been the replacement of his world then.

Renjun had loved his twisted world since then.

Contrary to what people had said at his funeral, Sicheng died not because of a car accident

It was because of Renjun and their stupid argument that night. Had Renjun not brought up Sicheng’s parents in the conversation, Sicheng wouldn't turn to show his wretched face to Renjun—he wouldn’t have missed the car coming from his side. Renjun closed his eyes at the memory and the shattered glass from his left. 

Renjun had meant good. For Sicheng to make peace with his family and be a good son, leaving art to be his parents' successor. Renjun knew this path wouldn’t bring Sicheng any fortune nor the luxury of life he had always wanted. Renjun swore he didn’t mean any harm. 

Renjun swore he wasn’t the one who’s responsible for Sicheng’s death. But when people found out he was the only person coming out of the hospital alive—unscarred, they looked away in disappointment.

 _What a pity_.

Maybe it was the start of his fall. Or maybe he had been falling for long and just then touched the ground. His mind was twisted right there. And before anyone could point an accusing finger, Renjun had thought that it was his fault. Blaming himself and feeling guilty and stressed over it. It was a meaningless thought.

It was a meaningless thought.

Renjun opened his suitcase again, now face to face with Sicheng. Carefully, he placed the canvas on an easel and sat in front of it. The palette was ready at his table, along with the paint and the brushes. He stared at the unfinished painting.

Renjun remembered the time when Sicheng first visited his small studio. With his trench coat and black turtleneck.

“Is this where you usually paint?”

Renjun rubbed his nape, embarrassed at the state of the room. A mess of paper and stacked books. “Yes.”

Sicheng went right away to his desk. Usually, Renjun would hide his mediocre works from strangers. But that time, Renjun had thought that Sicheng deserved to be someone more than a stranger to him. He let him be.

“You’re talented.”

Renjun was flustered. “Ah, thank you.”

Sicheng glanced to the upright piano on the left. “You play?”

“I guess you could say so.”

Sicheng traced the keyboard. Experimentally pressed the tiles and heard it echoed through the whole room. Too harsh. “Could you play me a song?” he asked, turning to Renjun.

He didn’t know why, but he felt the need to impress him somehow. So he said yes and took a seat in front of the piano. Donghyuck would never complain, but he knew how focused he was when he was working, so he opted to be as silent as possible. There were three pedals, Renjun stepped on the middle pedal that silenced the sound. As he stepped on the pedal, a felt cloth was pressed down onto the piano wire, and kept the sound from reverberating. He began playing. Anitra’s Dance.

They could hear the sound of the wooden hammer being pressed against the steel wires. There was only dry clicking sound, and the wires didn’t reverberate. The sound that came out was faint, like a music from a music box. Pleasant.

Behind him, he could hear thuds of bare feet against the wooden floor. Sicheng was dancing.

Renjun slightly turned and caught Sicheng’s eyes staring at him while turning on his tiptoes. He became flustered and his playing missed a beat. Sicheng chuckled and landed on both of his feet again.

He put his hands on Renjun’s shoulder, leaning in to watch him play. “Why don’t you play louder?”

“I—I pressed the pedal, to silence it a bit. The walls are thin and I don’t want to disturb the neighbour.”

“You’re thinking too much.”

Renjun stopped his playing. Hovering his hands over the keyboard before he put them on his lap. Like a child that was being scolded by their piano teacher for not learning scales. “I just want to be a good neighbour.”

“Why do you have to be good for someone else?” Sicheng asked. Renjun was disturbed by how genuinely confused he sounded.

“Because—” Renjun cut himself off. No words hanging in the air. Not when he didn’t really know the answer.

“They won’t be mad just because someone played a good piece too loud, will they?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You should try it then.”

“I’d rather not,” Renjun said, slipping off the seat, walking to his desk. “Can we start painting?”

Sicheng shrugged, slipping off his turtleneck. “Sure.”

After that day, he never told Sicheng how he started playing louder.

Renjun enjoyed painting Sicheng. His body was already art and it was easy for him to copy that art into his bland canvas. But Sicheng thought that he was amazing and acted as if Renjun had made a brilliant discovery. Renjun always shrugged it off, it was just a paint on a cloth. No less no more.

“But it’s your hard work. You put effort into it. That way, it was more than just a thing,” Sicheng had said, disagreeing with Renjun’s tendency to think so low of himself.

"I envy you," Sicheng had said one day. He looked at Renjun like he meant it. Renjun was puzzled.

"Why?"

Sicheng took his hand and put it on his palm. Palm to palm. Fingers to fingers. Aligning their hands. "See? Your hands are smaller. And yet, they could do so much compared to mine."

But Renjun had thought: your hands are too beautiful to do things.

"I wish for you to use these hands to do many beautiful things, Renjun. Don't ever hesitate on doing what you want to," Sicheng said, warming Renjun's paint covered hands. Renjun's breath hitched.

"But yours are perfect for piano," Renjun blurted out. "I always struggle with scales. But you could do it easily with these long fingers."

Sicheng chuckled. "I can't even play the piano."

"Do you want me to teach you?"

Renjun had thought of those words as beautiful and special. He held them close to his heart. That was until he found out, that maybe it wasn’t Renjun that Sicheng had spoken to. When he found out about Sicheng and his past, Renjun knew that it was more of a self-assuring statement. Not for Renjun.

But still, he kept those words. And poured his everything into that painting. That was his first blessing and sin.

Upon facing the same painting, months later, Renjun realized how precious this painting was to him. This was Sicheng's legacy. The only thing Sicheng left other than something derived from his memories of the late model.

He cherished it as much as he hated it. He had promised Sicheng to finish it by the end of the year—a promise he made as a fleeting word to assure Sicheng that he wouldn't have to sit still for too long.

But now there was no need for pointless words of assurance.

Renjun unlocked his phone, staring at the time. It was a nice evening when he decided to open his gallery. The first few photos were ones he recently took. Pretty places he had visited. Delicious foods he had tried. It went on for a long time, the sole reason for his phone always lagging.

After that was Sicheng. There were very few pictures of Sicheng he had in his phone. They never had a date in a nice place—nice enough for him to take a photo of. The pictures he had were Sicheng laughing, smiling, candid. Real and lively. He looked truly happy here from the camera. Which was ironic since we knew the camera often lied.

Renjun smiled and wiped his eyes. Nostalgic.

Scrolling again, he found another picture. Sicheng wasn't smiling that time. He was standing still, leaning on the balcony. Mauve oil painting sky behind him. The sun had almost made his figure into a silhouette, but the light from inside the flat prevented it.

Renjun recalled the time he took it.

He had thought that Sicheng always looked beautiful when he was deep inside his mind. He looked serene, but his gaze was focused. Truly ethereal. Renjun wanted to keep it forever. Hence, the picture.

Taking a deep breath, Renjun carefully placed his phone near his canvas. So that it was easy for him to look at it whenever he forgot the details of Sicheng. A reference.

It was never the same. The stillness of Sicheng was unnatural. The eyes looked less lively, and his skin was too chapped. But Renjun kept painting. Brush fluent on the canvas. This was their mother tongue. Like they had always been there, like they were finally home to where they belong. This was Renjun's place, he was finally back to the point where he strayed before. This felt right.

When the time came to an end, and the moon finally reclaimed her throne from the sun, Renjun exhaled loudly.

It was finished.

Renjun liked to imagine that Sicheng was there, patting his shoulder and praising him. Telling him that he had done a good job. He needed it. Validation and love. Love and validation. Whichever fit.

Renjun leaned backward and his back made a loud cracking sound. The ceiling looked closer than ever. "You did great, Renjun," he spoke quietly into the empty studio. “You did very great.”

He lowered his head back to the canvas level, staring at his painting, the bigger picture of it. It was no longer the masterpiece he worshipped before. It wasn't ideal. It was mediocre. But it was Sicheng and him. It was perfect. 

And it was the past.

Renjun took his phone from the easel, still showing him the picture of Sicheng. He glanced at the painting and found the peace he had been looking for. He smiled, satisfied.

He scrolled through the gallery again, expecting another picture of Sicheng. But on the contrary, the series of Sicheng's pictures ended that soon. Now he could see Donghyuck instead. Donghyuck with his arm around his shoulder, and him smiling from ear to ear. From Christmas mass last year.

The picture was decent. Nice even. He already knew Jaemin must have been the one to take this picture. He had always been the talented one in their group of friends.

He remembered that mass, and the party after.

They attended it as a college reunion. Meeting some old friends and finding the spark they used to have. It was easy for them to fall back into the past. Laughing and talking about life. Renjun had been the happiest that time. Even when he didn't remember his breakfast today, he had remembered how happy he was back then.

The next picture was before Donghyuck had put an arm around him. And then followed by another. It was a backward series of pictures. Renjun smiled fondly at the memories. There were a few pictures of Donghyuck alone in their shared flat after that. Doing mundane things but still smiling so wide at the camera. Renjun took these pictures.

He had always been the most sentimental between them, after all. Sappy.

Those pictures had been his life so far. And it made him realize how much he missed going back home, to where he truly belonged. Not as a tourist in strangers' place. Sure, the people are nice, the places are beautiful, and the foods are delicious. But it lacked the familiarity that brought him comfort.

For the first time in his life, he understood what Donghyuck dreamt of.

He missed home. He missed his flat back in Seoul. He missed his small studio. He missed the park he used to paint at.

And Renjun knew he's not good at lying, so he thought to himself: "I miss Donghyuck."

He bid goodbye to Lucas the next morning.

Donghyuck received the call on Saturday morning when he was doing his dishes after eating breakfast. It was relaxing. Washing dishes allowed him to think only how much of a nuisance these plates were. Easy distraction.

He was scrubbing a burnt spot on his pan when he heard the familiar ringtone. He quickly ran the water over his hand, rinsing the excessive foam. Wiping his dripping hands over his pants, he ran to his phone on the kitchen counter.

Hastily he put the phone on his ear. “Renjun?”

Renjun chuckled into the phone. Breathy. “Hi, Hyuck. Open the door.”

Donghyuck widened his eyes, head perked up towards the front door. He couldn’t say a thing, his body already moving to open the door. He bumped his hip on the couch but he didn’t care. “Don’t tell me—”

He swung the front door open.

Renjun’s laugh could still be heard ringing from the other line. Playful. “I know you just opened the door, Hyuck. I got you.”

Donghyuck huffed a breath, “Little shit.”

“Eat shit, Hyuck.”

Donghyuck slammed the door with too much force, just to be petty and let Renjun know how annoyed he was. “Why are you calling? Did you have another dream about me last night?" he asked, leaning on the kitchen island. His tone was cocky, but his worry was still audible.

“No. But I thought of you," Renjun confessed. 

“What—”

"I’m at the airport.”

Donghyuck cleared his throat, he walked around the kitchen. “Where are you going this time?”

“Back home.”

Donghyuck stopped in his stance, feet hesitant to walk further. His steps suddenly felt too loud. He was afraid he heard it wrong. “You’re coming back?”

Renjun laughed again. Donghyuck noticed that Renjun laughed a lot today. “Yeah. I have finished that painting. Without Sicheng. Now I’m coming back home.” That time, he knew the haunting had ended.

“That’s... great.” Donghyuck fiddled with the stray thread on his shirt. “What are you going to do with it now?”

“I called his parents yesterday; they don’t know about me and Sicheng,” Renjun said through the phone. His tone lied between relief and hurt. “I told them that Sicheng had commissioned me to paint a self portrait for him. They wanted to hang it as a memorial for him.”

“I think that’s great,” Renjun added.

Donghyuck took a deep breath. “I think that’s great,” he mimicked.

“Yeah. Do you want to know something?”

It was rhetoric. Renjun would tell him if it was what he wanted to, no matter what Donghyuck answered. Donghyuck was glad.

“I had thought of that painting as a burden for the past few months, Hyuck. Wondering why I couldn’t just finish it. Blaming myself and everything around me.

“I had forgotten the joy I originally felt while painting,” Renjun confessed.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect you know,” Donghyuck carefully weaved his words. “Your painting.”

Renjun chuckled, trying to not make it seem like they were discussing some heavy topics. “Yeah, I realized when I saw my sketches of you.”

“Me?”

Renjun hummed. “It was a silly excuse—I know. But at that time, I truly wanted to sketch something nice and—” Renjun struggled to find the word to fit—“free.”

“Those weren’t my best. But they were fun. Just like they were supposed to be. And also, it made me realize how homesick I was,” Renjun said again. “It almost feels like you’re my home.”

“That’s cringy.”

“I know,” Renjun whined. “But I mean it.”

“I’m flattered,” Donghyuck said.

"You know what will make you feel even more flattered, Hyuck?"

"What?"

Renjun's mechanically distorted voice came again. "I think—uh, I, I love you."

Donghyuck swallowed hard, his heartbeat picked up his need to think, the need of oxygen for his brain to think of that statement thoroughly. The sound of his mouth opening was loud, chapped lips parting. "Do you mean it too?"

"Yes," Renjun breathed out. "Maybe it was platonic before. But now I think—no, I’m sure that I—” Renjun sighed, hiding his smile on his hands. People around him didn’t stare at him. Calling someone in the airport was a habit of some if not all. It was a tradition to call your loved ones, some to say goodbye and some to tell the news of them arriving.

Or in Renjun’s case, confessing like a cowardly lovesick fool.

“It’s not new,” Renjun continued.

“What do you mean?”

Renjun fixed his sideburns and bit his lips. “It’s a secret but I used to have a crush on you the first few months of us living together.”

When Donghyuck didn’t say a thing, Renjun was suddenly very conscious of the silent.

“Actually I had planned on confessing when I arrived but you’ll never know what would happen in the future. The plane could crash, or be cancelled, or that the courage I had built for the last few days could crumble—are you listening?"

"Yeah," Donghyuck croaked out. He rubbed his face, but it was just a feign to conceal his flustered face. "I'm listening. And I'm very flattered," he said, voice small.

Renjun chuckled through the phone. Too loud, but strangely endearing. "Let's talk about this later. I have to board the plane."

"Okay. Be safe."

"I will," Renjun said hastily, "I've got someone waiting for me at home now."

"You always have, Renjun,” Donghyuck said. He laughed at the lonely living room floor and shook his head. As if he was being ridiculed that Renjun hadn’t realized the fact yet. “See you later, I love you.” 

He had this habit of ending a phone call with a fleeting ‘love you’. But just this time, Renjun wanted to do the same too. Sincerely, genuinely.

Renjun giggled. Strolling through the airport with his suitcases behind him, Renjun whispered into the phone, “I love you too. See you at home.”

“If you miss it so much, I could send you a picture of it.”

Renjun laughed. “What for?”

Donghyuck hung up from the call. And when a notification popped up, Renjun smiled fondly. Instead of their flat, there was a picture of Donghyuck.

But it was alright. Renjun found it just as comforting and lovely.

**Author's Note:**

> So basically, Renjun:  
> \- likes to procrastinate  
> \- likes tall rich men  
> \- dramatic  
> \- can't paint without reference  
> \- perfectionist, but see the first point
> 
> Relatable? Relatable.


End file.
